Avoidance
by Taylor Mercury
Summary: A short one shot set after EW. Since peace was gained Quatre has seen little of the other pilots, but it is one in particular which concerns him, why is he avoiding him? Then the circus comes to the colony . . . (slight shounen-ai, 3x4)


**A.N: **well, hello! Welcome to my first attempt at Gundam Wing fanfiction! Not the best for a first attempt, but we all need to push over that first domino to get the effect, don't we? So, here I am, pushing my first domino! Metaphorically speaking, of course.  
  
Just a quick note, this is not an AU story, it's set a few years after the end of EW, I've done my best to keep the characters as close to how they really are as I can. Tips & suggestions are welcomed happily.  
  
**Disclaimer: **sadly, none of the characters belong to me. But, I'm working on fixing that. Honest. If I could just get the hang of robbing that bank without getting caught . . . .  
  
**Warnings: **slight shounen-ai (mostly implied), and a flair for the somewhat dramatic. meh. No one's perfect  
I want to send a big hug and thank you to **Angelic Candy **if t'wasn't for her, you wouldn't be reading this now anyroad, without further ado, I present to you, my first (poor) attempt at GW fanfic!

* * *

  
Avoidance

The day was bright, artificial light spread across the colony ground, warming those people who were out on the fine day. Two of those people were Quatre Winner and his older sister, Iria. They were spending a day out together, and although Quatre was not the little baby brother anymore - now more of a young man - Iria liked to spend time with him. And, they were shopping for clothes for Quatre, who didn't care much about how he looked, but Iria insisted upon new clothes for him every several months or so. 

To Quatre's great relief, for what had felt like hours upon hours, the clothes shopping had finished, Iria was properly satisfied with the purchases and what she had achieved. 

"Can we have ice cream now?" Quatre asked, a hopeful look in his large aqua eyes. 

"Aren't you too old for ice cream?" Iria teased him, although she complied and led them to the nearest ice cream store. 

"You're never too old for ice cream!" Quatre replied cheerily. 

Quatre was soon pleased and delightedly ate his ice cream as they walked along the sunny streets. He felt slightly sad when he had licked up every last delicious drop there was to be had, but the ice cream soon vanished from his mind when he noticed Iria had stopped walking to look at something. 

"Hey, Quatre, a circus!" she called him over and pointed at what she had been looking at. It was a poster advertising a circus that had come to the colony. "You like the circus, don't you?" she turned to look at him. 

Quatre was staring at the poster with wide, curious eyes. He hadn't been to a circus in years, hadn't actually watched one in even longer. 

_'It couldn't be . . .'_ he thought to himself. _'No, of course not . . . dont be silly . . .'_

"Quatre!" Iria's impatient voice snapped Quatre from his dazed thoughts, and his eyes travelled from the poster to his sister, looking at her curiously. 

"I said 'you like the circus right?'" she repeated the comment Quatre had missed. 

"Oh," was all that would come out for a moment. Did he like the circus? Sure, he used to, but now . . . He shrugged, "circus's are for kids," he finally replied. 

Iria laughed and rolled her eyes. "They are not, look here," she pointed at the poster, "'fun for the whole family'" she read out loud. "And it starts in thirty minutes, we may as well, when was the last time the circus came to the colony?" 

Quatre didn't answer as it was obvious Iria wanted to go, she had already set her mind on it. So, thirty minutes later he found himself waiting in the seats with Iria, surrounded by happy, laughing families, not too close to the center, but not too high up, they could see it all just fine. 

He found he was a mix of emotions as he waited, part of him was excited to see a circus, part of him felt anxious - for what he didn't know - and another part felt just plain stupid - for coming? for feeling anxious? 

He wasn't sure. 

All Quatre knew was when the lights suddenly dimmed, and the anticipation rose tangibly within the audience, he gave a gasp and felt his chest constrict. Not from excitement - not for the circus anyway - but from something else . . . 

Bright lights shone down into the circus center as the circus master appeared, and Quatre felt an odd sense of recognition. _'No, no it can't be . . .'_ he told himself again. 

He sat, almost impatiently through the first few acts, so much so that Iria had to tell him not to fidget so much, but Quatre couldn't help it. At least Iria was having fun, laughing and clapping along with the rest of the crowd. 

Another shot of recognition passed through him when a young woman was introduced. _'That woman,'_ thought Quatre, _'I know her, she's . . .'_ his train of thought was lost when he suddenly realised what that meant. And in the back of his mind, the whole time, that was exactly what he had been thinking, not wanting to admit it, scared to admit the wishful hope to himself. _'No, of course he won't be here, he can't be . . .'_ he firmally told himself. _'It's been years and years, he would have moved on.'_ Quatre knew, whilst he was thinking them, that they were just lame excuses. 

Despite this, Quatre was still surprised when the lights dimmed, only to highlight a moment later upon the confirmation of his suspicions. "Trowa . . ." 

Quatre hadn't realised he had spoken outloud until Iria turned to him, and in a hushed voice saying, "you know him?" a surprise look unfolded on her face when Quatre nodded a yes. 

"I used to at least," he added in a whisper. 

There was his old friend, and fellow Gundam pilot, Trowa Barton, wearing his overly large clown trousers held over his bare chest with suspenders, half a clown mask on his face, grinning and giving an odd, lopsided effect. It appeared not only was Trowa still a part of the circus, - _(because really, where else did he have to go?)_ - but he also had all his old skills, including his impeccable balance and grace, as Quatre watched the performance unfold below him in wide eyed wonder. 

"That's great, that you have a friend in the circus." 

Quatre hadn't noticed Iria talking, but managed to catch the end of her comment. 

"Oh," he turned towards her slightly, still keeping one eye on Trowa as he spoke. "Well, I guess," he tried to explain in a whisper. "I haven't seen him for years." 

Iria didn't seem to catch most of Quatre's comment though, she too seemed to be in awe of what was going on in the circus ring. "Wow, your friend sure is good with the animals, isn't he?" 

"What?" Quatre glanced back and immiediately understood what Iria was talking about. "Ah, yeah, he is," was his unheard reply. Trowa had always been good with animals. 

It felt very, strange, to Quatre, to randomly find himself at a circus, and the one Trowa evidently still travelled with no less. It made his stomach jolt in a funny way, to see Trowa there, in his circus outfit, years after no contact at all. He wondered if Trowa had seen him at all, but then quickly dismissed the idea as ridiculous, they were seated too far away for Trowa to recognize him. 

An odd feeling passed through Quatre as he watched on. It certainly hadn't been his choice to not have any contact with Trowa since the war had finally ceased. But, since then, Quatre hadn't really seen much of the other pilots, except for Duo, whom he saw often compared to how much he saw the others. He'd only seen Heero a small number of times, and only heard from Wufei once or twice. But of Trowa: nothing, which had saddened Quatre. He really liked the other ex-Gundam pilots, and had hoped to see more of them besides missions and battles once the war had finished and peace had been achieved. 

Of course, he had told himself they had other things to do, places to visit, they all had to adjust their own way to the sudden fact they no longer had to be soldiers, no longer had to fight, and live life normally. Maybe Trowa's way of adjusting was to avoid all contact with the others. And Quatre himself had been busy, taking over his fathers place, as heir to the Winner Foundation. 

At the sound of applause, Quatre thudded back to reality to find Trowa and the woman he called his sister - Catherine - leaving the ring. A feeling of disappointment welled up within him as Quatre realised he had missed most of Trowa's performance, being too deep into his own thoughts. 

"Well, that was fun!" said Iria in a jubilant voice as they made their way back home that evening. "Your friend was really good! You should invite him over some time so I can meet him." 

"I don't really know him anymore," Quatre found himself answering, feelings of disappointment and regret lurching withint him. "I haven't seen him for a few years now." 

"Oh, well nows the best time to remedy that!" It seemed impossible now to make Iria anything less than excited. "The circus is here for just over another week, you should go see him and invite him over!" 

Thankfully, Quatre didn't have to reply to this, as they had arrived home, and Iria's attention was soon captured by something else. 

Quatre left and made his way up to his room, where he changed, climbed into bed and hoped that night for a dreamless sleep. 

* * *

Despite his feelings after he had been to the circus, the next night Quatre found himself there again, and he wasn't entirely sure why, only that he'd omitted this particular piece of information from Iria when she'd asked where he was going.

He pushed his blond hair from his eyes as he entered the circus tent, the feelings again of excitement, anxiety and stupid filled him. 

Quatre had taken a seat near the back of the seating area, because as much as he wanted to see Trowa, he did not want Trowa seeing him. Which was a weird thought in itself, and Quatre didn't even try to understand it right then. 

That was ulitmately Quatre's main reason for coming again, Trowa, although he'd tried to convince himself it was because he wanted to see Trowa's performance - having ignored it somehow last night - he knew that really his main reason was to just see Trowa. Afterall, it was good to see his old friend after what felt like so very long, to know that Trowa was ok. 

The reason Quatre didn't want to be seen himself was easier to explain to himself, he thought Trowa wouldn't want to. He'd obviously moved on and adjusted to life as a normal civilian, and he did not need the sight of Quatre bringing up memories of the war, the battles, again. This was what Quatre had convinced himself was the reason why Trowa had never kept in contact, afterall it was hard to remember you were no longer a soldier when you kept seeing the people you used to fight alongside of. 

Of course, it hadn't occured to Quatre that although that could be true, because they had been in battles, in missions, together was a good reason to stay in contact, who knew better how life as a Gundam pilot had been than a fellow Gundam pilot himself? Only the other four could ever understand the things Quatre had gone through, and it was the same ultimately with the others. But Quatre hadn't thought of this, so it could give him no comfort. 

All of Quatre's thoughts sifted through his mind as he waited, impatiently again, for Trowa's performance, although this time there was no Iria to scold him like a child for fidgeting. 

_'Trowa has a normal life now, as part of the circus,'_ Quatre told himself again, embossing this idea into his mind. _'But then, why am I so keen to keep seeing him? And the others? I've also continued, best I could, with my life.'_

This was indeed true, Quatre now had majority charge over the Winner Foundation, in the place of his father, as the only male and therefore only heir to it all. Life had become increasingly busy for Quatre following this move, and he was often found doing paperwork and attending boring meetings. But despite his moving on - if thats what you called it - it had never bothered him to see his other ex-pilot friends, infact he looked forward to any word or sign from them. 

But, everybody is different, he reasoned. _'Trowa is different.'_

He found himself wondering if Trowa had changed much since they had last seen each other. Did he look different, older? So far, his only sight of Trowa had been from some distance, he wanted to be near him, see him closer. Quatre himself had changed very little, only growing somewhat taller and thinner, his face losing some of the baby look it had previously seemed to hold. With his large aqua eyes, pale skin, blond hair and usually happy smile, Quatre had often been mistaken for being younger than his actual age, but now he looked a little older, more mature, the war's effects could correct many age misjudgements now. 

Finally, it seemed, after Catherine's appearance Trowa would come out. He didn't realise it, but when the lights dimmed, Quatre caught his breath, holding it until the spotlight focused once again on Trowa. He let his breath out in one long _whoosh_ of air and watched intently, eyes wide, as Trowa once again performed his act. 

Every single thought left Quatre's mind, and all he knew was Trowa, just Trowa. 

_'Trowa . . .'_

The moment Trowa was out of the ring, it was as if a button had been switched and Quatre was once again tuned into the world around him, aware of the crowd he was just another member of. He sat back, now aware of how stiffly and rigidly he had been sitting throughout Trowa's performance. 

Somewhat calmed now by the sight of Trowa, Quatre sat patiently throughout the rest of the show and left with the large crowd that dispersed once it was over. He briefly wondered why he had bothered to stay at all once Trowa's part had finished, it was clear that was the only reason he came. He dismissed the thought, and the idea that Trowa was now, finally so near, and Quatre was doing nothing about it, and made his way home. He hoped Iria wouldn't appear at home and start questioning him, he didn't know what he'd tell her if she asked him anything. 

* * *

For the third night in a row, Quatre found himself again at the circus, again in the same seating area. He felt compelled by this overwhelming urge just to see Trowa.

He knew Iria was getting suspicious when he informed her he was going out again. Quatre never went out for pleasure in the evenings, he hardly went out for pleasure at all anymore, that was why Iria had insisted upon them going out the other day, and she had obviously noticed this new, strange behaviour from her brother, thankfully, she hadn't yet mentioned it, but he knew she would soon. 

Quatre had discovered sisters seem to know everything. But this didn't bother him. It was his behaviour, and emotions, which seemed to bother him. 

Despite this overwhelming compulsion to continue going to the circus to see Trowa, Quatre didn't want to be seen, which made very little sense when coupled with how much Quatre _had_ wanted to see Trowa again, talk to him, - _(touch him)_ - and yet he wasn't letting himself do this. It would have been so easy to go talk to Trowa! After ages of longing to, wanting to know where his friend was, how he was, and now they were miraculously in the same colony! Quatre could have just gone back there after the show, or even just go during the day to find Trowa, who afterall must know that Quatre lived in this colony. 

All of this Quatre had thought over earlier that day, pondered about for hours, running in circles that provided no answers, only the urge to watch Trowa again. 

He followed the same routine as the previous night, only this time once Trowa's part was over, Quatre did leave, seeing no good reason for staying for the rest anyway. 

Once outside the tent, Quatre just stood in the cool air a moment, letting the slight, artificial breeze wash over him, ruffle his blond locks, as he looked up at the 'sky'. For a moment he felt the desire to be on the Earth again, to be looking up at the stars and moon and colonies in outer space. He loved the colonies, but the Earth was so beautiful, and he longed to go back, this time for pleasure. 

With a sigh, Quatre tore his eyes from the 'sky' and started to head for home. 

"Quatre?" the soft, familiar, voice gently called his name, and Quatre felt his entire body freeze at the sound of it. The way his name was called, as it always had sounded coming from that mouth, stirred something in him. _'Could I be imagining things now?'_ he asked himself. _'Is my mind playing games with me?'_

"Quatre?" it spoke again. "What are you doing here?" 

Quatre finally managed to turn himself around and found Trowa, - just like he had hoped - standing closer than he had thought, still wearing his costume. "I . . . I . . ." Quatre struggled to find a reason, but words eluded him just then, as he gazed wide eyed at his old friend. To finally see him again, see him near, it was, wonderful, and oddly, terrifying. 

Trowa waited patiently, one emerald green eye gazing curiously at Quatre, focus never wavering. 

"I," he tried again, until finally blurting, "Iria wanted me to invite you home. She wanted to meet you," he quickly added, hoping Trowa wouldn't get the wrong impression. 

Trowa's one visible eye blinked, and he raised an eyebrow. "Your sister?" 

Quatre nodded his head. "We came the other night, she dragged me to the circus, although I didn't realise it was yours, and," Quatre had obviously managed to find plenty of words now. "When I recognized you, she realised you were a friend of mine and asked me to invite you over." Finished, Quatre waited as Trowa absorbed all this. It wasn't exactly the truth, but it was all Quatre could find to tell him. He did not want to tell him that he had felt this compulsion to come back to the circus, twice, alone, to see him. 

Waiting a response, Quatre's eyes wandered over his old friend. Trowa also hadn't changed much, he too had grown somewhat taller, but he had always been the tallest of them all. His hair was slightly longer, but still brushed forward over one eye in the same style as always. Quatre found himself almost entranced as he watched the breeze gently blow Trowa's hair, occasionally revealing the other emerald eye he kept hidden. 

He noticed Trowa had gained some weight, - no, that wasn't right, because he was still slim - no, he had filled out into his body more. And now Quatre found his eyes wandering over Trowa's bare chest, watching as the light played over his body. 

"Is that what you want?" Trowa's soft voice brought Quatre back to the conversation, back to reality, and his cheeks stained a deep red when he realised how he had been looking at Trowa, and hoped he hadn't noticed. 

"Yeah," was Quatre's reply. "I haven't seen you in a long time, Trowa, and it would be nice to catch up. Only, if you wanted to, of course," he quickly added. 

One thing Quatre noted that hadn't changed about Trowa was the emotionless mask he'd always worn, and Quatre found himself wishing he could know what must be going through Trowa's mind at not only Quatre's sudden appearance, but sudden invitation. 

Finally, Trowa answered, in his soft voice. "You're right, we haven't seen each other in a long time. I would like that. When would be most convenient for you? We move on Sunday." 

Quatre wasn't sure whether he should feel elated, or anxious over Trowa's answer, but smiled at him despite this. "Great! Well, whenever really, we've no plans for this week." 

Trowa paused a moment, "tomorrow?" he asked. 

"If that's good for you," was Quatre's answer. "But don't you have to work?" 

Shaking his head, Trowa replied, "I'm owed a night off anyway." 

"Oh, ok, great." Quatre was about to say his goodbyes, suddenly feeling oddly awkward in Trowa's presence, when he realised Trowa didn't know exactly where he lived. "I'll send someone round to pick you up tomorrow, ok?" Trowa nodded in response. "Does 6:30 sound ok to you?" 

Another nod. "I'll be ready." 

This time Quatre nodded, and not knowing anything else to say in his sudden awkwardness said, "ok then. See you tomorrow. Night Trowa." 

"Goodnight, Quatre," came the soft reply as Quatre flashed another smile, and turned to leave. 

_'It was nice to see you again,'_ Quatre mentally added. _'Very nice.'  
  
_

* * *

"And where have you been?"

Quatre was greeted by the questioning glance of Iria as she stood by the door he had just walked in through. Although he was old enough to be able to go out in the evenings, he never did anything quite like this, and Iria had obviously noticed. 

She awaited an answer from Quatre, looking curiously at him. 

"I, was . . . out," he finally managed to reply, looking awat from his sister and cringing at himself inwardly. It was the most unbelievable and lame thing for him to come up with. 

Iria rolled her eyes at him. "Quatre, I'm not stupid you know," she replied. "I'm just a bit worried about you, you've been acting, oddly, for a few days now." 

Quatre waited a beat, deciding to tell her the truth, some of it at least. Quatre was a terrible liar, but he could at least withhold information. "I, invited my friend over," he told her. "Tomorrow." 

"Your friend?" 

Nodding, he said, "yes, Trowa." Iria obviously didn't recogonize the name as she blinked at him. "From the circus," Quatre provided her. 

"Oh," Iria finally got who Quatre meant. "So, that's where you've been! Talking to your friend." Quatre only nodded. "That's great!" She continued happily. "I'm glad he's coming over, I wanted to meet him. I bet you have a lot to catch up on, right?" Another nod, as Iria went on. "How is he getting here?" 

"I'm going to send someone to pick him up tomorrow evening." 

"Shouldn't you be going yourself?" she questioned. 

Quatre shrugged, "it depends how busy I am," was his reply. 

"Ok then," Iria wasn't phased. "I'm going to bed now Quatre, I'll see you tomorrow." 

"Goodnight, Iria," he replied. 

"Don't let the bed bugs bite!" she cheerily advised him as she left to go to her own room. 

Quatre rolled his eyes as he made his way to his own room. _'She's right though,'_ he thought, _'I should go pick up Trowa myself. It is only polite, after all.'_

But the very idea of sitting alone in a car with Trowa made Quatre catch his breath and fill with anxiety. As much as he has wanted to see and talk to Trowa, thought about doing so, now he wasn't quite ready to handle sitting alone with him in a car. 

* * *

The next evening, 6 p.m, found Quatre pacing in his study - back, forth, back, forth - deliberating very seriously about something. He had stopped working through all the paper work earlier that day than he usually did. It would soon be time to send someone to pick Trowa up, and Quatre was debating over doing it himself, or not. He was split in half about it; part said it was only polite, and Trowa _was_ his friend; but part felt the weight of anxiety at the very idea crush him like a boulder sitting on his shoulders.

Before this, before the circus, the decision would have been made without thought, Trowa was a good friend and Quatre would love to spend even a short amount of time alone with Trowa, catching up. 

But now . . . ? Something had changed, within Quatre, making him nervous and anxious with even the thought of being alone with Trowa. But what exact change that had occured within Quatre he could not pinpoint or explain, and this puzzled him the most. He had never quite experienced these kind of emotions before, not in this context, and he didn't understand what they meant. 

A knock on the door disturbed Quatre's nervous jumble of thoughts as he looked up to find Iria in the doorway. 

"Quatre?" her face held a question as she looked at her brother. "Aren't you going to go pick up Trowa?" 

Trying to make his tone sound casual, Quatre answered her, "actually, I was going to send a driver . . ." he trailed off lamely, realising how pathetic it sounded. Trowa was his friend, after all, and deserved to be treated so. 

Iria's face softened with seeming understanding. "Ah, I see, you haven't seen him in a couple years, and your nervous about being alone with him, right? Scared things might have changed." 

Quatre's mouth dropped open in surprise at his sisters insighfulness. She wasn't wholly right, but she had hit it almost right on the mark. How? 

She chuckled gently at the look on Quatre's face. "I'm your sister, I'm supposed to know these things," she offered a comforting smile to him. "Now, why don't you take your car, Quat, and go pick up that friend of yours? If you don't go now, he'll wonder if you'll show up at all." 

With only a nod and a small smile in reply, Quatre strode quickly from the room and to the garage where his car was held. He arrived at the circus just before 6:30, and found himself quickly glancing over how he looked in the mirror. He caught himself running his fingers through his hair, fluffing it up, when he realised what he was doing. He was never one to be concerned about appearances, especially when in the company of friends. Why was he doing it now? 

With a sigh escaping his lips, and the knowledge he was doing many small uncharacteristic things lately, which he could not explain, Quatre slowly climbed from the car with ease and made his way to go and find Trowa. 

It did not take him long to locate his friend, who was found sitting calmly by the lion cage. "T-Trowa?" Quatre found himself stumbling upon his words when Trowa looked up, fixing the one incredibly green eye upon him. It seemed to capture Quatre, hold him. 

He stood up quickly with ease, and nodded in Quatre's direction. "Quatre," he acknowledged, stepping towards the shorter boy. 

They walked in silence as Quatre led Trowa to his car, he was trying to come up with something to say to him, something to ask him, but all forms of possible conversation seemed to have evaporated from Quatre's mind with the single glance of that green eye. He didn't understand, Quatre never had trouble talking to Trowa before, what had changed now? 

It was as Quatre drove them back to his home, occasionally glancing over at Trowa sitting calmly in the passenger seat, that a possible question to ask finally rose within his mind. "So, Trowa," he started, somewhat awkwardly, "how have you been?" It was the most obvious question in the world to ask someone, and yet it had taken Quatre at least five minutes to recall that. 

He glanced over at the taller boy to see if the question had struck him as silly and awkward as it had himself, but Quatre should have known better, Trowa only looked blank faced ahead of them. 

"Fine," came his simple answer. "And yourself?" Well, one thing hadn't changed with Trowa, he still didn't waste his words. 

Quatre made a noise of agreement, before further asking, "have you been at the circus this whole time?" 

"Mostly," the taller boy answered, not elaborating. 

This was going all wrong, and Quatre knew it, the feeling of awkwardness seemed to grow within the car, expanding, pushing him away, and it all felt wrong. Quatre was sure that Trowa had noticed this too, could feel it. Where was it going wrong? And how could Quatre fix this? He wanted it to be like it used to between him and Trowa, simple, comfortable, easy. 

"Have you," Quatre tentatively started to ask, "heard from any of the others, since?" 

There was a moment of silence, before Trowa answered. "Mostly Duo, and Heero, very rarely." Quatre felt a weight drop within his chest as his heart became heavier. "It's hard to keep contact when the circus travels." 

Well, that answered it for Quatre. Trowa had at least spoken to both Duo and Heero since the end of the war. But not to him, Trowa had not once even sent Quatre news of his whereabouts or condition. The discovery of this made the weight in Quatre's chest expand and drop even further. He wondered if his fallen heart would crush the rest of him, with the way it felt right now, it was surely possible. The vision of himself slowly being crushed from the insight out, filled his mind momentarily. 

Having learnt his lesson of not to ask questions, Quatre tried to push out his feelings of hurt as he drove on, willing the weight to disperse within him. It was like a fly trying to get rid of a swatter, impossible, and improbable. 

Soon, they arrived at the Winner families home, and Quatre led Trowa inside, hoping the evening would not get progessively disasterous. But at the rate it was going now, Quatre felt Trowa would soon regret accepting to come along. 

"Quatre!" Iria appeared, quickly walking over to her little brother and embracing him briefly, before she turned to the tall figure of Trowa, standing patiently, face expressionless. "And this must be your friend, Trowa right?" She gave him a friendly smile as Trowa nodded in the affirmative of her question. "I'd give you a hug as well, but I don't know how comfortable you'd be with that," she gave a little laugh. 

Blank faced, Trowa replied, "no, I wouldn't be comfortable with that." He paused for a beat, looking at the friendly smile on Iria's face, eyes softening slightly. "But shaking hands would be fine." 

Iria grinned and stepped forward shaking Trowa's hand warmly in her own. "Pleased to meet you, Trowa. I'm Quatre's sister Iria, and any friend of Quatre's is a friend of mine," she looked over at her brother with a smile. "He has good judgement in people." 

Feeling slightly uncomfortable now, Quatre fidgeted and cleared his throat. 

"Oh," Iria turned back to Quatre. "Dinner will be ready in about twenty minutes, perhaps you'd like to show Trowa around the house?" She smiled at them both in that way older sistes always smile at brothers and their friends, knowingly. 

Scratching absently at his ear, Quatre glanced over at Trowa, noting how little his expressionless mask told him. "Oh, sure, ok," he answered since Trowa wasn't voicing any objections. "We'll be back soon," Quatre informed his sister, before gesturing to Trowa to follow him. "I'll show you the living room first." 

Trowa obediantly followed Quatre as he showed him around the downstairs floor of the house, silently listening as Quatre explained the rooms and told stories of things that had happened in them. Occasionally he offered a comment or a question, but otherwise Trowa was silent, observing the rooms in question. 

This way, talking about rooms, telling stories about them, Quatre was finding it easier to talk to the other boy, and this infuriated him as he could not understand why, he wasn't telling Trowa anything important, wasn't telling him anything that he really wanted to tell him. The words meaningless in this context. 

"Quatre?" the soft voice of Trowa calling his name broke Quatre gently from his thoughts. 

Quatre looked up, "hmm?" 

"Are you ok?" the one visible green eye, locked on Quatre, showed a hint of concern, unnoticed by Quatre. 

"Yes, fine," replied Quatre, "why?" 

"You went silent on me." 

Quatre hadn't realised, but he had been so consumed by his thoughts and emotions, his own frustrations, that he had stopped talking to Trowa mid-way through a sentence. "Oh, I'm sorry." Quatre tried to smile. "Where was I?" he picked up where he left off, talking until he looked at the time and realised that fifteen minutes had already passed. And he hadn't even gotten to show Trowa the upstairs. 

"We better be getting back," Quatre said, "dinner will be ready soon." 

They made their way back to where they had started and found Iria waiting for them with a warm smile. "Well, Trowa I hope Quatre didn't overwhelm you with the house," she said. "I know it's a bit, 'decorative' but that's how father left it." 

"It's a beautiful house," came Trowa's soft reply. 

"Good! Now, lets go to the dining room and eat, shall we?" 

The two followed Iria to the dining room, Trowa seated opposite Quatre and Iria at the head. The food tasted wonderful, and Quatre was thankful that at least something was going right this evening. 

Between talking to Quatre and asking Trowa questions, Iria kept the conversation going, although it did not go unnoticed by any that Quatre and Trowa hardly passed any words between themselves. Quatre was still struggling to come up with something to say, and still frustrated with himself for not being able to. He was ordering himself internally to just _say_ something to Trowa. He was finally here, for Quatre to see, and he hadn't said anything he'd wanted to say to him. 

He had the feeling if he didn't say anything to Trowa soon, he would never get to. Quatre was sure once Trowa was out of that door, he was out of his life. He didn't want that, not at all. And yet, it seemed so awkward between them both all that evening, and Quatre was left wondering if the friendship they had shared before only existed on the battlefield. He sincerely hoped not, Trowa meant more than that to him to just, vanish from his life for good. 

Deciding he had to say something, Quatre opened his mouth, and the first thing that came out was, "how is Catherine doing?" Not once had Quatre asked Trowa about his 'sister', and it made him feel terribly rude. It should have been one of the first things Quatre asked him. 

Trowa looked up, slight surprise at the sudden asking of the question showed in his one visible eye. "She's fine," he answered. "Happy that I no longer have to keep moving around." 

At the questioning look on Iria's face, Quatre explained to her, "Catherine is Trowa's sister." he figured that was the easiest thing to stick to, especially since Catherine and Trowa seemed to have adopted each other as siblings anyway. "She works at the circus too." 

All too soon, especially to Quatre's liking, his fears were realised, the meal ended, and Trowa shortly decided he had better leave. 

"It was very nice meeting you, Trowa," Iria was saying sincerely, all the usual 'thank-yous' and 'take cares' that followed any sort of social gathering. 

Quatre showed Trowa out, and every step nearer the door Quatre's mind called to him to say what he had wanted to tell Trowa all along, but this in itself puzzled Quatre as he could not think of anything specific he had wanted to tell to the taller boy. It was an infuriating feeling, and even more so knowing that every step they took was leading Trowa further and further away from Quatre for good. 

At the door, Quatre could no longer hold his frustrated silence, he _had_ to come up with something, at least. He couldn't just, let Trowa go. "I, uh," he scrambled to find the words, "thanks for coming, Trowa." The words weren't the right words Quatre had been looking before, he knew, they felt wrong in his mouth as he used them. 

Trowa nodded. "Thank you for inviting me," he calmly replied. "The food was good, and I enjoyed meeting your sister." 

Positive comments, they were always a good sign. But Quatre had the distinct feeling that Trowa could sense the awkwardness between them, and he wasn't doing anything to help it. 

Quatre wanted to say something else, but the words completely escaped him. He could only stare up at the taller boy infront of him. 

"Well, goodnight then, Quatre," his soft voice broke Quatre's silence. 

"Trowa, I'm glad you came," he blurted out. "It was, nice to see you again." He almost blushed as he admitted this, but at least the words were closer to the ones he was still searching for. Not quite right, but closer. 

Trowa gave him one of his small smiles, "me too." 

As Trowa turned to leave, Quatre found himself calling out, "goodnight Trowa!" He watched his friend walk away in the darkening evening, probably what was for good, and Quatre almost felt as if something inside him had come loose, something important. 

* * *

**_  
  
"No! Don't leave me!"_**

The words had tumbled loudly, panicked, from his mouth, as Quatre's eyes shot open wide and he found himself sitting straight up in his bed. He had been screaming. His body was covered in sweat, his blankets twisted and tumbled around him, and he was shuddering with the frightened and panicked air of someone who had just lost the most meaningful thing in their life. 

He had had a nightmare. 

Heartbeat pounding, head pulsing, Quatre laid back down, trying to calm himself, requesting his heart to please go back to its normal pace, asking his head to please stop pounding as he tried to gather his thoughts together, collect and organize them, understand them. 

His mind travelled back to the already hazy dream. He poked at it gently with his mind, the edges were faded and fogged, but he could see himself in the middle, and Trowa, there too, as they had been a couple nights ago, after dinner. Trowa was leaving. Quatre saw himself call something out to Trowa, and he had a feeling it was the something important he had tried to urge himself to remember and say. But even now, replaying the dream, the important words Quatre uttered were lost and faded in the winds of waking. The last he saw, the last he remembered, was Trowa calmly and unchangingly walking away, as if he had never heard, or as if he hadn't cared. 

That was the point Quatre had cried out, when he had woken himself up. 

Now, he could not shake the unmistakable sense of having lost something, the panic at the thought still lay within him. It did not seem like a nightmare, but the complete sense of loss, of hurt and pain that welled within Quatre still, made it feel like one. And Trowa leaving like that . . . it wasn't one of your typical sweet dreams. 

Feeling his head beating with pain, Quatre brought his hands up to his face, not realising how they shook, and was surprised to find his cheeks were damp. Not with sweat. 

_'I'm crying,'_ he thought to himself. _'Why am I crying?'_ another, deeper, internal voice answered for him, _'Trowa left you . . .'_

Deciding to ignore the inner words, Quatre threw the jumble of blankets off of himself and slipped from the bed. He knew sleep would not come to him now, there was no point in even trying, and his throat was dry and thirsty from his panicked yell, his tears. 

Thankful that Iria or somebody else had not heard him and woken, Quatre stepped from his room into the dark interior of the house, deciding to use this unexepect extra time to catch up with some of his paper work, although it really wouldn't do much good. Since the night he had seen Trowa last, Quatre seemed to be suffering concentration problems. Sometimes some noise or something, would snap him from the daze he had inevitably fallen into, and Quatre would be surprised to discover he had sat behind the desk all afternoon, without getting one thing done. 

It had Quatre completely baffled, along with the deep feeling of regret which had welled up within and washed over him. 

What was happening to him? 

_'I'm worried about Trowa leaving,'_ Quatre assumed after recalling the words he had cried upon awakening. _'And that's no surprise, I know once he goes, I'll never see him again. And I don't want that . . . and he leaves soon, the circus leaves in a couple of days . . .'_

Trowa leaves in a few days. 

"Quatre, wake up!" 

The voice abruptly tore Quatre away and brought him back to the land of awake. "Huh?" he mumbled groggily as he raised his head from the desk, looking up, blinking bleary eyed. 

Iria was standing infront of him, a concerned look in her eyes as she gazed at her brother. "You fell asleep Quatre, in the middle of the day. Is something wrong?" 

Blinking several times to wake himself, Quatre replied, "I just didn't sleep well last night, Iria. I'm fine." 

She didn't look very assured by his answer though. "Quatre," she went on," you've been acting strangely for almost a week now! I'm worried about you." She moved over closer to her brother, the worry was evident in her voice as she spoke. "This is all about Trowa, isn't it?" 

Quatre's eyes widened in surprise at the mention of that name. "Trowa?" 

Iria nodded, "you've been acting funny ever since we went to the circus. I know it has something to do with him. What is it?" 

Still not used to her sisterly intuition, though he should have been by now, Quatre looked up at her, his aqua eyes wide. "I, don't know, Iria." He decided to be honest and open with her. It couldn't hurt now, Trowa would be gone for good in a couple of days, and no hurt could eclipse that pain. "I just, have this urgent feeling that I _must_ tell Trowa something, something important, but I don't know what! It's as if I can't find the words!" he almost sobbed right there, the frustration over this feeling had been eating away at Quatre, and then that dream . . . 

Iria let out a sigh and looked down at her younger brother. "Quatre, follow your heart." 

He looked up at her in confusion. "What?" 

She stepped over and helped Quatre out of his chair. "Let your emotions direct you in the right way," continued Iria, now almost pushing Quatre out of the study door. "Listen to your intuiton, let it guide you." 

"Iria?" Quatre tried to turn to look at her, but she was still pushing him. Her comments were almost as frustrating to understand as his lack of words when it came to Trowa. What was she talking about? 

"Follow your instincts, Quatre." Her voice became more insistent as she demanded, "go!" Quatre looked at her questioningly, eyes wide with confusion as his head swam with everything she had said. "Go!" Iria repeated herself. 

Not needing to be told a third time, Quatre went, out of the door and into the bright, warm light outside. 

_'Follow your heart,'_ he repeated Iria's words to himself. It was all happening so fast, Quatre's mind was struggling to catch up with what had just happened. _'Follow your heart,'_ he thought again. _'Trowa . . .'_ The thought dawned on him, and with out another seconds hesitation, Quatre was off, on his way to the circus. To Trowa. 

_'Listen to your intuition, let it guide you.'_

Halfway there, it dawned upon Quatre, what he really wanted, was for Trowa to stay. Not to just stay in contact, but to stay, here, forever. But, with that dawning, he also realised that it was impossible. Trowa had the circus, had Catherine. There was no reason for him to stay in this colony. This realisation almost made Quatre stop and turn right back around. Almost. 

_'There's you.'_ Quatre shoved the wishful thought away viciously, "don't be ridiculous," he scolded himself. 

Iria's words rose in him again, and Quatre found himself responding, moving forward again, and with every step he was being brought closer to Trowa. 

But how could he tell him? How could he possibly tell him? 

In what felt like no time at all, everything having become a background blur when compared to his feelings now, Quatre found himself at the circus, eyes looking around, searching for the figure of Trowa, the figure he knew so well. 

"Quatre?" He turned quickly at the sound of his name and was greeted with the sight of Catherine instead. "Are you looking for Trowa?" she asked as she walked up to him. 

Quatre only nodded his head 'yes.' 

Catherine gestured, "he's over there, in the trailer." 

"Thank you," Quatre replied, before hurrying over to the trailer that Catherine had pointed out. Though Quatre felt that, even without Catherine's help, he would have known where to find Trowa anyway. 

He stood outside the trailer a moment, everything seeming to have come to a sudden halt after all the quick happenings. Breathing deeply, gathering himself, and debating over whether or not to really go through with this or not, Quatre had finally decided yes, when the trailer door was pulled open and Trowa's face appeared in their place. 

The one visible green eye blinked in surprise when he registered it was Quatre standing so thoughtfully, almost urgently, outside his tent. "Quatre?" he sounded almost as surprised as Quatre felt. 

Finally, here, and Quatre found his throat closing up on him. Damn it, the traitor! 

"Is something wrong?" Trowa inquired, his tone suggesting concern as he stepped from the tent. 

Finding his mouth working ahead of his brain, Quatre replied, "I wanted to talk with you, Trowa." 

Surprise once again briefly flickered across Trowa's face, before he complied and stepped back, inviting Quatre into the trailer. 

Trowa leaned himself against something as Quatre almost paced, the urgency was still within him, he could not dissipate it. After a few silent minutes of this, Trowa broke the silence. "What is it, Quatre?" His tone further suggested concern as he watched the blond walk back and forth inside the trailer. 

Quatre looked up, almost as if shocked to discover Trowa still there. 

"You wanted to talk to me?" Trowa persisted gently, sensing something was heavily on Quatre's mind. 

Quatre nodded mutely, and Trowa waited patiently, folding his arms. Desperately, Quatre internally searched for the words, his hands groping around, attempting to grab any, but they all seemed to be playing a cruel game of hide and seek on him, when Quatre needed them most. 

"Quatre," Trowa's voice was soft, but a hint of impatience crawled into it. "I have things to do, we leave in two days." But Quatre was still struggling to find where those words were hiding, groping around the corners of his mind. 

As Trowa made a move to leave, in his urgency, Quatre was able to find at least one set of words and tear them from their hiding places. "Trowa - don't leave me!" They so echoed the words called out in panic from last nights nightmare that Quatre gave an involuntary shudder. 

But, they had the required effect, Trowa had stopped his movements, and turned once again to face Quatre, this time the surprise stayed in his face. 

"I, I don't want you to leave me." 

Trowa stared back silently at the flushed and flustered boy infront of him, so obviously struggling to find his words. 

"All that time," Quatre continued, talking fast, now knowing what he was saying, but having this need to speak it all, tell Trowa. "I heard from the others, but the one I wanted to see most didn't bother to even call." There were tears now forming in the aqua of Quatre's wide eyes, as all emotions from before seeemd to pool together and pour out, spilling from him. His voice thickened with this, and it was harder to talk, but he went on, now that he had started, he could not stop. 

"I thought, maybe, y-you didn't like me. Maybe we weren't r-really friends. M-maybe you wanted to avoid me, that I'd bring back b-bad memories. But you told me, y-you saw the others." He looked up at the blurred, watery image of Trowa through his burning eyes. "Why not me, Trowa?" 

Trowa's eyes seemed to close, as a sigh softly escaped his lips. "Quatre . . ." 

Quatre blinked rapidly, furious at himself for almost crying, and demanded the tears to go away, to stop burning in his eyes. Tears rarely listen. "Iria told me to-to follow my heart, so here I am, Trowa. What do you have to say?" 

They stared at each other a moment, finally un-steady green eyes meeting burning aqua, a thousand songs worth of emotions passing between the two figures. 

"We're leaving soon, Quatre," Trowa finally spoke. "You know that. My life, it's with the circus. They need me, Catherine needs me." 

Quatre shook his head, he didn't want to accept that. "No, they were fine before you Trowa, y-you're making excuses now." Quatre didn't know where those words had come from, they seemed to be invading his mind, speaking before he had a chance to think things over. "You're making excuses, to avoid the situation," he continued." I won't let you avoid it anymore, Trowa." 

It finally clicked in Quatre's mind, the thing that had been bothering him, the piece of the puzzle he could not find. There it was, hiding under the box, waiting for him to find it all this time. Avoidance. That was what the both of them had been doing, avoiding the situation, avoiding the emotions, avoiding each other. 

"We're leaving soon," Trowa repeated the words, but this time it sounded as if he were saying them to himself, trying to reinforce it, to convince himself. "They need me." And failing. 

Boldly, and without further thinking, propelled by some inner push, Quatre blurted out the words, "what if _I_ need you, Trowa?" With the finding of the missing puzzle piece, and slotting it back into it's place, the whole picture had become clear to Quatre, and now it was easier to fix the mistakes he had previously been making, the mistakes of avoidance. 

This time, at Quatre's words, Trowa's entire face showed the shock he felt, the one visible green of his eye widening, his mouth opening in a small _'o'_. "Y-you, need, me?" he sounded almost incredulous and disbelieving at Quatre's words. 

Silently, Quatre nodded. 

Another moment of silence passed between the two, Quatre's heart beating faster than he thought natural, as every horrible thought that possibly could, entered his mind. The images of the now even foggier dream of last night came back to mind, of Trowa, uncaringly, turning away from the words Quatre had lovingly handed him. A shiver passed through him. 

Before he knew it though, Trowa had taken the first step, and suddenly Quatre felt himself being held in Trowa's arms. Reacting naturally, Quatre's arms went around Trowa. Blinking in surprise, Quatre looked up at the taller boy, finding he could see both of Trowa's green orbs at once, and felt the breath trap inside his throat, like a bird in a cage. "T-Trowa?" 

"If I'd known you needed me, Quatre," Trowa's gentle voice trailed away as he stared back down into the aqua of Quatre's eyes. It seemed Trowa had also seen the whole of the puzzle, had learnt that avoidance was the problem. He too, was following his heart. 

"I, do," Quatre's voice came out slowly. Again, hearing Iria's voice, _'let your emotions guide you,'_ Quatre moved his face closer to Trowa's, reaching up, touching those lips softly with his own, allowing only the briefest of kisses to pass between. 

"Do you need me, Trowa?" 

Words were no longer needed, as Trowa stared down at Quatre, a smile flickering upon his lips, his eyes said all the words Quatre needed to hear. 

* * *

A.N: And, thats it! Reviews are welcome, flames to be left in the car, I don't want them burning my house down. You might see more fanfics from me in the future, if I can think up a plot. Ah, plots . . . .  
  
Again, thanks to **Angelic Candy **and anyone else kind enough to take time from their precious, er, time, to read this. I love you! **- shalom! -**  
  
_ Myca_


End file.
